


Blue Flame

by frau_haile



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill generally being a dear, Demon visits, M/M, apathetic comfort?, barely edited, huddling around a fire, mentioned alchoholism, unexpectedly fluffy, unused scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4756550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frau_haile/pseuds/frau_haile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to sleep on a cold, storming night, Dipper Pines gets a visit he almost didn't see coming.</p><p>(A deleted scene from Chapter 2 of another fic, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4104916">Howl</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Flame

**Author's Note:**

> This was sitting at the bottom of my drafts and I thought it would be interesting to share it.

It is two o’clock in the morning, and Dipper considers himself blessed by God’s hands himself that he doesn’t live in Gravity Falls during the winter, because even during the summer season, this town’s weather wants to bite him in the ass with how flipshitting cold it is. He’s huddled under three blankets and two comforters, the window is locked shut and the heater from downstairs is turned higher than he’s seen it go, but he’s still freezing his dick off.

The winds were brought by the rain, made colder by the snow-topped mountains surrounding the town. It’s amazing how the sun still managed to pierce through those gray clouds. Now, it’s like a hailstorm outside, and the raindrops sound like they're lightbulbs shattering on the roof.

The one thing, the only thing that brings him comfort is seeing Mabel’s side of the room, and even that is starting dull over. He knows it’s nothing like snow, but to someone born and raised in Californian weather, this is the freezer equivalent to one of Hell’s tiers.

And he can’t sleep.  He realizes, quivering under the sheets, half-asleep, annoyed and tired, that this is one of the few times he couldn’t sleep for some other reason that wasn’t related to grieving for Mabel.

“You’ve been drinking.”

Dipper opens his eyes, only to see Bill, standing there in his tailcoat and his bowtie, and this time he doesn’t have his hat, or his cane. Just him.

“I told you to fuck off – “

Dipper doesn’t even have the energy to be more awake. He’s sneaked downstairs at around 11 in the evening, when Stan was passed out on the couch, and drank the rest of the case and more. At his fifth bottle, he stopped, drank half a gallon of water, went upstairs, and tried to sleep. Tried. He thought the alcohol would warm up his body long enough until he finally loses consciousness, but the cold hates his guts.

Dipper convinced himself he drank for that sole reason. There are two kinds of drunk people; drunk people who will believe you when you tell them there’s a rainbow bridge to Hogwarts, and drunk people who will tell you to piss off when you tell them their own name. Dipper becomes the first type.

“You’re not even in the legal age for drinking,” Bill says over him. Dipper groans, irritated, and buries his face under his comforters and blankets. “You should stop.”

“Shut up,” Dipper tries to sound menacing, but ends up just sounding drunker than he really is. “Christ, just…leave me alone.” He doesn’t even have the energy to convince himself he’s only dreaming. Intoxicated systems shut down at around the hours after midnight.

When he peeks up from the covers, Bill is still there, his vessel looking perfect and also giving him a disapproving mother hen expression.

Dipper narrows his already sleep-narrowed eyes at the demon. “The cold is freezing my prick off, I don’t need a piece of crap like you making this a lot shittier, go away.”

Bill rolls his eyes as he forces up the sleeves of his coat, which only results in terribly scrunched-up cloth. “Do you want my help or not?”

Dipper feels like lunging at him, if only half of his limbs weren’t numbed cold and sleeping. “How the hell can you actually help me.”

Bill slips off a glove, and, rubbing his fingers together, like someone lighting their first match, he concentrates, brows knitting together, until a small, blue flame lights away at his forefinger.

“It’s a lot easier to light when it’s warm,” Bill explains, the fire growing larger, until it’s covering his whole hand, “I don’t feel temperature, but the fire does.”

Okay, Dipper is freezing despite different multiple animals’ shaved fur, and at this time of the day (or morning, really) with this kind of weather, he’s just human.

When Bill gets down on a knee on his bedside, Dipper scoots closer to the edge. Bill has the blue flame kindling on both hands now, and he’s cupped them beside each other. After some fumbling of bedcovers, Bill has arranged to sit crossed-legged under the bed, his arms half on top of the mattress with a bursting, warm flame.

Dipper sluggishly shoves the covers down to his hips and greedily huddles over the fire.

“You can touch it,” Bill says, “Just like the deals. It won’t consume.”

“You totally ripped off God’s burning bush,” Dipper grunts, surging his ice-cold, shaking hands into the warm flame, “Oh shit, that is good. Yes. Fuck yes.” The flame isn’t a burning, dry-hot sensation. Whatever heat Dipper wanted to feel was what he felt. Fucking magic fire.

“How long have you been swearing like this?”

“Why do you care,” Dipper sleepily mutters, “because I don’t.”

Dipper wonders why he trusted Bill about the un-consuming fire in a split second. Blame the alcohol? Maybe his hands are being barbecued in another dimension. He is too sleepy for shit.

Bill is quiet. The blue fire casts his face in sharp, artful shadows and surfaces. His bottom lip glistens, and Dipper can see his tongue moving behind his teeth. Dipper feels like this is probably how it is when you’re high. Having a tailcoat-wearing demon visit your room. Talking to said demon after dark. Putting your hands in their burning bush-style flame. Finding them physically attractive.

Dipper drifts off before he knows it.

Bill stays until the storm stops, for the sole reason that Dipper’s hands, upon the boy slowly dozing into sleep, have fallen on top of his.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, the fic where this came from is [this way](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4104916).


End file.
